


Cicatrize

by WintersCaptain



Series: A Joyful Future [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Joyful Future, Episode Related, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WintersCaptain/pseuds/WintersCaptain
Summary: cicatrize: (v.) to heal by forming scars
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Series: A Joyful Future [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836898
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	Cicatrize

**Author's Note:**

> i am so excited to share this with you all. this lives between 3x01 and 3x11, and i have pulled some dialogue from some key episodes to keep us on track :) i hope you enjoy it. please let me know what you think! i love love love your feedback and its my favorite thing to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> warnings: language, light shade thrown at gideon

“Respectfully, ma’am, I’m not comfortable with that.” 

Strauss snorts. “You can’t possibly believe you’ll get anywhere in the bureau if you choose to remain loyal to Aaron Hotchner.”

“All due respect, I understand that my career here is in its infancy. That said, I don’t need to get anywhere, ma’am. I need to have the trust and respect of the people I work with.” You stand straight, and resist the urge to reach for your back pocket for your temporary academy credentials. Theatrics won’t do you any good right now. “I would understand if you reassigned me to another unit for the duration of my case hours.” 

Erin sighs, and puts her glasses back on her nose. “That’s all. Thank you.” It didn’t take profiling training to hear the lack of gratitude in her tone. 

You duck out of the office and smooth your hands over your slacks. You highly doubt there will ever be a day where you considered selling out your unit chief for a promotion - today, at least, is not that day. 

It was almost disquieting how fast your hackles rose when Erin threatened Hotch’s career. It wasn’t your future you were worried about in that moment at all, until she mentioned it. Even now, you aren’t concerned. You know you’re doing the right thing, consequences be damned.

Even if you end up in Ohio working tax fraud after your training hours are up, Aaron would stay right where he belonged. In Quantico, in the BAU, with his wife and his son. 

You pass Aaron’s office, the door ajar, on your way back to the bullpen, and he calls your name from inside. 

You turn on your heel and lean up against the side of the door. “Yeah?”

Aaron looks at you from under his brow, noting your tense demeanor. “Everything okay?”

Adrenaline flushes through your system, but you smile through your reply. You hate lying to him, but the last thing you want to do is stress him out. “Yes, sir. Section Chief Strauss just wanted to speak with me about the remainder of my case hours.” It’s the truth. Almost. So why are you out of breath? 

An almost-smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Not leaving us so soon, I hope.” 

You shake your head, your smile morphing into something a little more genuine. “No, sir. I’m planning to be here for a while yet, if that’s alright by you.” 

“You won’t hear an argument from me.” He picks up his pen, twiddling it between his fingers. “How are those mock consults going?” 

You nod quickly, assuring him, “They’re going well. I can’t say Gideon has been exactly patient with me...but Morgan and Spencer have been very generous with their time.” 

A huff of laughter falls out of his nose. “I’m glad to hear you found help somewhere. You can always come to me as well, should you need an extra pair of eyes.” 

“I would hate to bother you.” 

He shrugs and his lips tip up. Before he opens his mouth again, his phone starts ringing. You can tell he was planning to say something else, but cut himself short. “It’s no bother,” he says as he reaches across the desk. “Oh, and please, close the door behind you?”

That’s your dismissal, and you take it with a smile and a wave, shutting the door (as instructed) behind you, hearing “Hotchner.” just before you did so. 

+++

“Suspended?!” You stand in the doorway as Hotch packs his briefcase, headed home after blustering back to his office from a meeting with Erin. 

“Two weeks.” 

You flounder. “But that’s such bullshit.” He looks up at you, and you shut your mouth and revise. “Sorry. I just think that’s completely unreasonable.” 

He pauses, his hands on his desk. “You’ll all be fine without me.” 

You shake your head. “No, we won’t.” 

Without another word, he brushes past you, flies down the stairs and into the elevator. 

You can’t do anything but stand there, your hand on the cool metal of the doorframe. Derek looks up at you, and you shrug, shaking your head. You are completely at a loss, and you can’t help but feel it’s your fault. 

When your eyes stray to Emily, she looks rather pale, leaning heavily on her desk. Her eyes flicker up to yours, and it feels a little like looking in a mirror. She has that same haunted guilt coloring her eyes that you feel in your own. 

You know the screwup on the last case was Gideon’s fault. You know Strauss blames Hotch. You know if you walk into Gideon’s office right now and let him have it like you wanted to you would be booted off this team without a second look, and he would still have his head in that goddamn journal. 

+++

Derek smacks his pen down on the case file. “This room just keeps getting smaller and smaller, doesn’t it?” 

“Should we wait fifteen minutes?” You can hear the notes of anxiety in Spencer’s voice. Gideon’s absence was wearing on him the most, Emily’s on Derek, and Hotch’s on yours. JJ is at her limit from all sides, and you can’t help but feel almost entirely useless as a barely-trained, last-resort limb holding this team aloft. 

You yawn, covering your mouth with your hand. Sleep had been hard-won the last two weeks. Steady institutional ground under your feet will surely improve your efforts, but it looks like the ground was still moving, shaking, and altogether unstable. 

“We can brief them on the plane.” JJ starts the debrief, and you automatically flip through the file in front of you. You swallow, the images on the screen getting to you a little more than normal. 

The team’s questions float past you, your mind wandering a little. 

Spencer squints. “How do we know it’s the same killer?” 

Your eyes stray to the doorway, searching in vain for someone who won’t be there. You try to convince yourself it’s Gideon you’re looking for, but it doesn’t work.

+++

“...It’s been a privilege.” Hotch shakes Derek’s hand and lightly claps him on the shoulder, leaving him dumbfounded in the hallway. 

Your eyes track Aaron as he crosses the bullpen, and you rise as he passes you at your desk. “Hotch.” 

He ignores you and continues toward the steps, with you hot on his heels. 

“Hotch you can’t transfer. We need you.” There’s a note of something in your voice. Anxiety? Desperation? Grief? You aren’t sure. 

He huffs, and you continue. 

“You’re the best unit chief I’ve ever known -”

“I’m the only unit chief you’ve ever known.” He talks over you, but you forge ahead anyway. 

“- and you’re the best person - the only person - to lead this team.” You follow him into his office as he sets his things down and stares at his desk, palms pressed to the wood. “Hotch - Aaron - we can’t do this without you.” 

He finally turns, and his eyes find yours. “You might have to.” 

You open your mouth to speak again, but his eyes flicker just past your elbow. You whirl, and find Erin Strauss sitting on the (deeply uncomfortable) couch on the far side of Hotch’s office. 

“Ma’am. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were here. I’ll just -” you look at Hotch and nod once, crisply. “Sir.” You look back at Erin, “Ma’am.” 

You step out of Hotch’s office as Emily climbs the stairs. You linger for a moment, and hear Emily inform them both of her resignation, effective immediately. Cold falls down to your fingertips, leaving you tingling and stunned. 

“But sir, it’s good to see you back. The team needs you.” With that, Emily brushes past you, and you follow her down the steps as the quiet voices of Strauss and Hotch dissolve behind you. 

Everything is falling apart, and there is nothing you can do. You’re just a NAT, not even out of the academy, watching your team splinter to pieces. 

_They’re not your team._

It’s not like you could have done anything differently. If you’d given in to Strauss, you could have pushed her back for so long, but you are certain the result would be the same, no matter your efforts. 

You sit at your desk, pretending to pack up for the flight as Emily pulls a box of effects from her desk. Hotch descends the steps the same way he always does - as if his feet never touch the ground. 

+++

Milwaukee sucks. You can’t look Strauss in the face once, for fear you’d let your simmering anger get the better of you. She damaged the relationship between you and the local police department almost immediately, and you did your best to help JJ recover some trust and mutual respect in the aftermath. 

You’re sorting through files at the precinct with JJ while Morgan is outside the room on the phone, looking more distressed by the moment. “Jayje, this sucks.” 

She snorts. “Yeah. You can say that again.” She passes you a file, and you open it, only halfway processing the content (enough to know that it’s irrelevant) before stacking it neatly beside you, lying in wait for the next one. 

“Jayje?” 

She looks over at you again. “Yeah?”

“This sucks.” 

That pulls an almost-smile from her, but it’s cut by the truth of your very simple words. You miss Aaron and Emily. You even find yourself missing _Gideon_ , for God’s sake. The team is stretched so thin, you feel like a rubber band about to snap. 

Morgan still looks increasingly frustrated from his place on the other side of the window. His voice is muffled, but you think you hear Aaron’s name in passing.

Without him, without Gideon, without Emily, everything feels wrong. It’s unsettling, especially with only five of you actually working. Strauss definitely doesn’t count, as she is only ever in the way. 

It’s only day two, and every single member of the team present had already stepped in it with her one way or another. (Your first strike came when you shut the car door before she got in, completely out of habit. You’d apologized, sure, but Strauss didn’t seem like the kind of person to be forgiving.) 

Morgan returns, and says entirely without prompting or preamble, “We need Hotch here.” His hands are on his hips, and you belatedly realize he has the most seniority of anyone except Erin. For all intents and purposes, Derek was in charge. 

You figure it’s not a bad thing - he’s strong, decisive, and assertive. 

Hotch’s voice echoes through your head. _Impulsive, reactive, loyal yet defensive._

Strauss looks at Derek from over her nose. “Agent Hotchner has been suspended.” 

He takes a breath, and you can see the tension in his shoulder as he fights back a scoff, eye roll, or both. “Ma’am, I understand that, but this is a critical case, and more people are going to die if we don’t have the full use of our team. I don’t know about you, ma’am, but I think that’s unacceptable.” 

She adjusts her reading glasses and returns to whatever it is in front of her. “You all are the best and brightest in the bureau, I’m sure you’ll be able to operate efficiently regardless of the circumstances.” 

You grit your teeth until you can feel the ache deep in the back of your head. Derek leaves the room, leaving the door open behind him. You recognize JJ’s calming, slow, temper-managing breath beside you. When you glance over at her, she keeps her head ducked down, writing a statement for the press. Her knuckles are white around her pen.

Spencer has his back to the room, studying and re-organizing the budding geographic profile. The tightness in his shoulders is clear to both you and JJ. You wish you could do something, anything. 

_Maybe you can._

You stand, measured and deliberate. Taking your cup of coffee, you step out of the conference room and shut the door behind you. You look around for a moment, until you just decide to walk outside altogether. 

Without thinking about it too much, you dial Penelope. 

“You have reached the deep, deep well of all knowledge. Hit me.” 

Her predictability is a balm, and you almost thank her, but time is of the essence. “You have to do something.” 

“I’ve been doing somethings all morning, sugar, you’re going to have to give me a little better than that.” There’s humor in her voice, and something hidden that you can’t quite place. You latch onto it and lower your voice. 

“You have to do something about Hotch and Prentiss.” 

Much like she’s reading from a script, she recites, “I am not authorized to modify or otherwise obstruct the operations of human resources.”

You smile. “Thanks, Garcia. You’re the best.” 

You can hear the thinly-veiled humor in her voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

And with that, she hangs up. You dial Hotch’s home number, seeing as he is there instead of here, scouring the files for anything of use to the team. You have half a mind to tease him about backseat driving, but you know you would hand him the wheel even if he was locked in the trunk, blindfolded. 

“Hello?” It’s Haley, and your heart skipped around a little bit. 

“Hey, Haley, it’s me. Is Hotch around?”

She sighs noisily, and says “Yeah, just a second.” 

There is some kind of scuffle - you assume it’s Haley’s hand over the receiver. You hear your name, and something that sounds like “...this isn’t just curiosity, Aaron. You are _not_ working this case. This is ridiculous.” 

You chew at your lower lip. Maybe the home number was a bad idea. 

You hear Aaron’s low, calm voice garble through the phone in response. There’s another scuffle, and then Aaron’s voice comes through. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Have you found anything new?”

He sighs, and he starts to say something, but he’s interrupted. “Hold on. Morgan’s calling me.” A pause. “Wait, where are - nevermind. Can I call you back?”

“No need, I just...had to step out for a second. I’ll check in with Morgan. Thanks, Hotch.” 

“Yeah.” He hangs up, and you hold your phone in your hand for a moment. 

Morgan’s on the phone again when you return. 

After a few hours fluttering around the precinct and the crime scene with Morgan, you return to the table with JJ, this time with two empty coffee cups and one full, but lukewarm at best. 

Emily and Aaron breeze into the room. You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face. 

“How fast can you get us up to speed?” Emily sounds a little out of breath, and she pulls up a chair as JJ passes her the file. 

“How fast can you sit down?” JJ says, laughing a little despite herself. 

Strauss walks in, and the room freezes. Something happens between her and Aaron as they stare at each other. 

“We’re only here to help.” Emily’s firm assurance only adds to the bands of tension constricting the room. 

“We’ll deal with this later.”

Aaron wishes you a quick hello as he stands beside you, leaning over with his palms pressed to the table. You pass over the case file and start speaking quickly and quietly, bringing him up to speed while suppressing the alarming magnitude of your joy at having him back in the field. Your head buzzes, thoughts overlapping as you continue to fire information at him. 

_Why are you so excited?_ The entirely rational side of your brain seems to ask, over and over again. 

Unfortunately, irrationality has both a rationalization and some supplementary additions. _He’s super capable and the best team lead and he’s handsome and smells good -_

_Stop. He’s suspended, he’s married, and he’s at least a decade your senior._

_So?_

_A decade and a half...or, just a little less. Anyway, quit!_

“...and that’s all we have so far.” 

You look at him as he frowns down at the photos. He looks _exhausted_ , and you know it isn’t just the flight. Something’s happened, but you have no idea where to begin, or even how to ask. 

Emily and JJ are across the table, with JJ mirroring you as you flipped through the photos and hand Hotch some more relevant information.

Soon, you’re on the road, alone with him in the car on the way to yet another crime scene. Aaron is tense and quiet beside you, but it seems to run deeper than just the stress of the case, his imminent transfer, and his quasi-unauthorized presence on site. 

“What’s gotcha, Hotch?” 

He shakes his head, still staring at the road. 

You fight the thought that tells you not to push him too hard. “It’s Haley, isn't it?”

The tightness in his jaw tells you everything you need to know. 

You heave a sigh. “She’s the reason you requested a transfer, isn’t she?”

His brown eyes stay dutifully trained on the road, without wavering, but his grip on the wheel tightens. “It’s complicated.” 

“I don’t think it is.” 

He huffs. “I _really_ don’t want to get into this right now.” 

You back off, sitting back in your seat and pressing your hand briefly to his shoulder. You squeeze once, and drop your hand back to your lap. “Sorry.” Whether you’re apologizing for your prodding or his circumstances, you aren’t sure. 

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “I know Strauss asked you to report back on my mistakes and instances of poor judgement in exchange for an ideal and lucrative assignment out of the academy.” A flash of cold shudders through you - completely unwarranted panic for something you didn’t do. “I also know you unilaterally refused, and likely damaged your own career prospects in the process.” 

“Anyone would have done the same.” Your voice is quiet, and surprisingly even. 

“You know that’s not true.” His eyes finally stray from the road and he looks over to you before looking back at the road. 

You swallow. He’s right. You nod.

“Thank you.” He glances over at you again. “And if you risk your career for me again I’ll send you back to remedial training myself.” 

Your mouth quirks up in a smile. “You’d never.” 

“Try me.” 

There’s a moment where the two of you are able to smile a little, even with the stress weighing on your shoulders. Something passes over his face, and the smile drops from it. He puts his sunglasses on, and you can see the pull of his brow as he looks out at the road. 

Something that feels like pride rushes through you. Even if short-lived. Nobody can make him smile like you can. At least, not that you’ve seen so far. 

Strauss loses it again at the crime scene, but you watch as Aaron handles her gently and deftly. You stand just off his shoulder, watching Strauss break down in near-tears for a second before she recovers and steps away from the team. He is so kind to her, even while she’s actively trying to fuck him over. 

Aaron Hotchner is a good man, and you are proud to be under his leadership, however temporary it may be.

+++

The team jumps out of the cars and starts scoping out the house. Derek organizes supplementary agents around the back of the house, returning to the cars after a few tense, quiet minutes. 

There is discussion of probable cause and other ridiculous semantics about the rules and what you are and are not allowed to do. 

Emily speaks up. “Let me go in alone.” 

Blood rushes through your ears, covering the rest of her rationale. You gear up, throwing on your kevlar with everyone else. 

Well, that is, everyone except Emily. Derek offers her his sidearm. 

You wordlessly pass yours to Aaron and pull your backup from your ankle holster. As you check the magazines and release the safety, you feel Aaron’s eyes on you. 

“What?” You say, a little more defensive than was necessary. “It’s a good idea.” 

And one you’d picked up from him, at that. The amount of hours you spent at the range perfecting your unholster, prepare, fire, follow through with that thing is almost embarrassing. 

The huff that leaves him very nearly turns into a laugh. He shakes his head, and begins directing the newly-arrived SWAT team to block out the staging. 

“We wait for Emily’s signal, and we breach. Is that clear?” His voice, though strategically quiet, is clear and authoritative. 

The Glock 42 you gave him looks positively miniscule in his hand, but packs just as much of a punch as his 17. The Beretta Pico molded-grip you have in your hand is absurd choice for him, and the trigger pull is way lighter. Thus, you get your own backup. 

Not a bad trade, if you had a moment to think about it critically. (Which you don’t.)

Hotch prefers more weight in the trigger and a standard grip. With a small frown, you remember that the 42 doesn’t have an ambidextrous slide release, so he can’t use his left thumb to reload - it's always his preference, but he can adapt quickly, even if his extra magazines are on the wrong side of his belt.

_That’s a weird thing to notice._

_Shut up._

_Alright, fine. What gun does Morgan use?_

_Sig Sauer. Next._

_Model? Reload preferences? Grip choice? Extended mags or standard?_

_Fuck._

“Good. Standby to breach, and keep in mind we may have an agent in distress. Watch your fire.” 

He meets your eyes last, and you nod, cocking your Beretta. The silence is deafening, everyone braced. 

There’s a page signal in your ear and Hotch’s “Go!” resounds across the property. 

You breach, taking Derek’s six as you clear the rest of the house. You get to the basement and watch as Aaron takes the gun from the boy - David. 

Hotch takes the weapon, still live and loaded, and extends his arm behind him. 

You take it, spit out the magazine, and engage the safety, getting out of his way as he lifts David and takes him out of the house. 

_The duality of man._

_What?_

_Oh you know, the barking drill sergeant versus the man who can take a gun from an eight year old and then pick him up with the tenderness he’d show his own son?_

_Oh, shut up._

“God, he hit you hard.” You huff a laugh as you lean against the ambulance, watching Emily get patched up. 

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he did, but I’ll live.” She looks up at you. “Is it weird that I’m glad to be back?”

“I’ll make sure it stays official,” Hotch says, coming up behind you. 

You flash Emily a smile and pat Hotch’s shoulder as you turn back toward the car. Things don’t feel quite so out of place, anymore. 

Derek beckons you over, and you stand beside him as they delegate tasks to the rest of the agents. The last thing you want to be is in the way. 

You overhear the conversation between Hotch and Strauss, looking over at JJ. A flash of hope lights up your chest, and you try to keep it from your face. 

“You mean that?” Derek asks. “You’re not leaving us?”

_Took the words right out of my mouth, Morgan._

“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Haley.” 

+++

It’s not until a few days later in the office with Aaron, finishing up some late night paperwork, that you realize something is wrong. 

Haley hasn’t called, and it’s far past midnight. She usually calls twice by now, first to check in and the second to get more than a little upset. You’d always liked her - consider her a friend, really - but she’s nothing if not predictable, and it’s notably odd that she’s straying from her pattern. 

The only sounds are the scratching of your pens against the case reports. The pattern deviance is eating at you. You know he can feel the wheels turning in your head. 

“Hotch?” 

“Mhmm?”

You put your pen down in front of his nameplate, deciding how to frame the question. Your eyes trace the letters of his name as you work and rework the question in your head.

_H...O...T....C Your wife walked out didn’t she? ...H... Are you and Haley getting divorced? ...N… Is this any of my business? (No.) ...E...R… What’s going on with you and Haley? ...A....A...R_

He doesn’t look up at you when he says, “You can ask.” 

“Haley left, didn’t she? After Milwaukee?” You decide spitting it out is your best option. it's decidedly one of the more inelegant versions you’d come up with, but something is better than nothing. 

Aaron sighs and sits back in his chair. He isn’t really looking at anything, but he isn’t absent either. It seems to be more of a pensive posture than anything else, his eyes fixed on the back wall of his office. 

He doesn’t ask you how you know and you are grateful. You don’t _mean_ to profile him, but a pattern is a pattern. In fairness, you aren’t profiling Aaron, just Haley. 

“She did...with Jack.” His lips press into a thin line for a moment. “And I’m not sure if she’s coming back.” 

Your shoulders drop, feeling defeated by the death of a marriage that isn’t even yours. The words that leave you are quiet, full of something you can't name. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods once, eyes flickering to yours for a half-second, and gets back to the report. His neat letters evenly fill every box, precise and legible. You sigh, and follow his lead.

But then again, when don’t you? 

+++

“What creeps you out about it?” Emily sounds skeptical at best, and Derek stays relaxed in his chair. 

“I dunno. People wearing masks. I don't like folks in disguises.” 

You snort, and he looks at you, exasperated. 

“Well,” Spencer says, his voice ticking up. “That’s the best thing about Halloween. You can be anything you want to be.” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty good just being me.” Derek pretends to look through paperwork, but you know he’s just staying busy to avoid scrutiny. You suppress a smile as you rest your chin in your palm, extremely engaged in the discourse. 

“Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?”

You grin, adding, “Yeah, Derek. Why is that?”

“You know what though, on the flip side, it does provide a reason to cozy up with a scary flick and get a little Halloween honey.” He winks and clicks his tongue behind his teeth. 

Emily rolls her eyes, and you simultaneously react. Her “Ew. Halloween honey...now _I’m_ creeped out.” overlapped your editorial. 

“You always ruin it, don’t you?

Spencer looks up. “Guys...he’s here.” 

Alarmingly obvious for a room of well-trained profilers (and you), everyone turns to the door, where Strauss and a man you don’t recognize enter and cross the bullpen. Spencer pulls the mask from his head, and the man smiles at...something. You’re not sure if it's Spencer, the staring, or the costumes, but...something.

You watch as they climb the stairs and go into Hotch’s office. A smile touches your lips when you see Hotch’s face break out into a rare grin, and embrace the man. 

They speak for a minute, and you catch JJ’s eye on the breezeway. You hop quickly up the stairs in front of Gideon’s old office to meet her. With a hand on her arm, you ask, “Who is that?”

She glances toward the open door as Strauss leaves. “David Rossi. BAU legend.”

Your brow furrows. “Is he staying?”

“Wanna find out?”

You laugh and follow her in, hanging back in the doorway as she informs Hotch she’s ready to give the briefing. 

“Agent Jareau, this is Agent Rossi.”

Her smile is charming and her handshake warm when she addresses Agent Rossi. “Hi. Everyone calls me JJ. It is such an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Thank you.” 

Hotch gestures back at you as he introduces you, too. You slip past him and shake Rossi’s hand. “A pleasure.” 

He steps back and evaluates JJ and you. “What are your functions, here?”

JJ pipes in first. “I'm the communications coordinator and liaison. Pretty much the go-between for the team and the rest of the world.” She looks to you. 

“I’m a NAT who’s completing case hours for academy training,” you say, succinct and to the point. Your function in the room at the moment is entirely superfluous, and you suddenly feel a little out of place. 

“So I’ll gather everyone?” JJ saves you from the questions forming on Rossi’s lips, and you take a deep breath, communicating your thanks. 

“We’ll be right there.” Hotch offers you both a small smile as you turn and leave the room. 

When you’re out of earshot, Rossi says, “Wow. We didn’t have that ten years ago.” 

A shot of something phenomenally uncomfortable shoots through Hotch's chest. He’s maybe a little too defensive when he asks. “What do you mean?”

“Communications coordinators and academy NATs.” 

“Right.” Hotch nods. “A lot has changed. Come meet the team.” 

+++

“Hopefully by playing on his anger…” Hotch trails off and looks at the television. His face falls into a tilt that screams ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.’ “JJ... how’d they get that?” He watches as the news outlines their findings regarding the mask and the unsubs possible impotency, and the flare of ire grows in his chest. 

JJ stands straight, brushing your sleeve as she does so. You tend to hover around JJ or Spencer out in the field, trying to stay as out of the way as possible. “Not from me. I -” she changes directions. “Hotch I called all the local police departments and I _stressed_ withholding the mask.”

Rossi walks in, his little notebook in his hand. “I called them.”

Everyone has identical looks of confusion on their faces. You look over to Hotch for any kind of cue, and he is _deeply_ unhappy. Your lower lip disappears into your mouth. 

“What?” Hotch’s question is flat, and you shiver. 

_Cold as ice. You know, like the Foreigner song?_

_Shut up, already, would you?_

David continues, not acknowledging Hotch’s obvious frustration. “I said the FBI thinks the masks mean he’s impotent.”

Emily’s jaw drops, and you imagine you don’t look much different. 

_He did what? Can he do that? Who_ is _this guy?_

You keep your eyes trained on Hotch. Waiting for something. For what, you’re not sure. 

“Can I speak to you for a second?”

_There it is._

They’re gone for a long while, and when he returns, Hotch pulls JJ aside and reads her into the plan now that Rossi has decided to make decisions on his own. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Hotch this frustrated. With everything else going on, this is the last thing he needs.

+++

“I don’t need useless NATs with minimal training in my way while I’m trying to solve this case, Aaron. A communications liaison might work for you, but it feels like an unnecessary step for me.” Rossi’s voice rises above both the extent of the soundproofing in the conference room, as well as the whir of the air conditioning.

“ _You_ are not solving this case. _We_ are solving this case…”

This conversation is one of many, but the specific callout makes your eyes sting. Derek puts an arm around your shoulder and pushes you out the front door. 

“C’mon kid, let’s go for a walk.” 

As soon as you’re outside, your face crumples. Derek hugs you and you cling pathetically to his shirt. 

“Hey, now.” He leans back and puts his hands on your shoulders. “You know how valuable you are to this team. You are _not_ in our way. You are _not_ useless.” 

You throw your arms up into the air and wipe your face with your sleeve. You’re sure you’re all puffy at this point, and your eyes must be red. “Is he wrong though?”

Your mini-tirade drowns out Derek’s exasperated “Yes!” 

“I don’t have formal training, I am _barely_ twenty-five -”

“Reid got here at twenty-two and you pay more attention than any of us combined.” He crosses his arms. You were both just talking over each other at this point, neither one of your choosing to acknowledge the other. 

“- I am constantly underfoot -” 

“You’re not.”

“- I don’t contribute at all, Morgan! You can’t say that I do.” You huff, and wipe your face again. You will need a good long minute before you go back in, if only for the sake of your pride. 

You hear the door open behind you, and Morgan’s head snaps up. He nods once, and then walks past you. You don’t turn around. 

“I’m sorry you heard that. It wasn’t appropriate and it won’t happen again.” Hotch’s voice floats to you from over your right shoulder. “Dave is…” he searches for a word, “old-school.” 

You laugh a sharp little toneless laugh. “Right.”

Something annoying and altogether too warm flutters in your chest when he calls your name. You turn, reluctant in the extreme, and face him. He steps up to you and rests his hands on your upper arms like Derek did, only Hotch _searches_ your face. Very evenly and gently he says, “You are a very valued and capable member of this team, and I am very proud of the progress you’ve made in this unit. When you’re ready, I’d like for you to join us in the conference room. I don’t believe I’ve heard your thoughts about this unsub, and I’m sure you’ve seen something we haven’t.”

+++

The call wakes you from a dead sleep. It’s Hotch, and you shoot out of bed. 

“When?...Oh my god. How bad?...Okay. I’m getting in the car now I’ll be right there.” You hang up and throw on a pair of jeans and the first shirt you find, tossing a sweatshirt into your bag. You throw your shoes on, grab your keys, and fly out the door. 

The cold night air follows you into the waiting room, where you find JJ with her head in her hands and Spencer pacing in front of her. Emily appears seemingly out of nowhere, looking the part of JJ’s shadow. 

Your eyes scan the room, and find Hotch approaching from the back of the room. He looks relieved to see you, and he is. “You got here fast.” 

“Of course I did.” 

Spencer shakes his head, looking stunned. “This is crazy.” 

Rossi blusters in, and it startles you. “What do we know?”

Hotch comes around you, pressing three fingers around your elbow - a soothing, reassuring gesture. “Police think it was a botched robbery.” 

Emily steps up as you all form a loose huddle. “Where’s Morgan?”

You look at Hotch. _Did you call him?_

He nods ( _Of course_ ) and defers to JJ, who says. “He’s not answering his cell.” 

“I’ll call him again.” Spencer walks away, already dialing. 

Dave steps up close to Hotch, and you find yourself just outside of their quiet conversation. “What aren’t you saying?”

He glances at you and you nod once. You can take it. He crosses his arms over his chest and lowers his voice. “I spoke to one of the paramedics who brought her in. It doesn’t look good.” 

You inhale sharply and look over his shoulder, distracted by movement. JJ approaches at the same time Spencer walks back in. 

“They can’t give me an update.” 

“Morgan’s phone just keeps going straight to voicemail.” 

You heave a shaky breath and sit down. Spencer absentmindedly pats your shoulder, standing right beside you. 

You hear Emily ask, “Where the _hell_ is he?”

Eventually, everyone stops pacing. JJ and Emily sit together, holding hands. They’ve both bitten their nails to the quick, staring into space. Spencer moved across from you, leaning his head against the wall. Hotch stands beside you, his arms crossed and face hard, sighing every once and a while - it's usually around the same time he checks his watch. 

Your head is down, your hands resting on the crown of your head as if to protect you from something yet unseen. A warm hand covers yours, picking it up off your hair and holding it in his own. 

There’s no subtext, no suggestion. Just an anchor. Just a lifeline. Tears prick at your eyes again, and your breath catches. It feels like all you’ve been doing is crying. You squeeze Aaron’s hand once, and he squeezes back. 

Morgan walks in a little while later, and everyone jumps to their feet, yourself included. Hotch drops your hand and you immediately mourn the warmth. Nevertheless, you swipe at your eyes and join the huddle around Morgan. 

“She’s been in surgery a couple of hours,” JJ says, sounding just as tired as she looks. 

Morgan flounders. “I was in church. My phone was off.” 

You resist the urge to look at Aaron. _Church?_ Regardless, you halfway listen as Hotch fills him in, parroting hours-old information, rote. 

“Penelope Garcia?”

Your heads all snap to the doctor, who’s holding a clipboard. You can’t read the look on his face. Every single one of you says, “Yes,” or a variation thereof. 

You listen as the surgeon relays the information about Penelope’s condition, and you’re not sure if your fresh tears are from fear or relief. “...she could actually walk out of here in a couple of days, and I’d say that’s a minor miracle.” 

After he leaves, you see Hotch drop into Unit Chief mode. “Dave and I will go to the scene. I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don’t care about protocol, I don’t care whether we’re working this officially or not. We are not touching any new cases until we find out who did this.” 

He and Dave leave the rest of you alone, and you tuck yourself into Derek. You can hear and feel his uneven breath, the loose way his fingertips rest against your upper back. 

+++

When you all file into the room, JJ channels all your love into a kiss pressed to Penelope’s cheek. How you could ever leave this team and survive it was beyond you, but you still had a lot of life to live, a lot to see, a lot to experience. Who knows? Maybe there are lots of units like this. 

Even you can’t swallow that lie. 

You listen as she recounts and answers questions, taking mental notes. 

Emily sighs, seeming to already regret the request before it leaves her mouth. “We need a name.”

“James Colby Baylor.” 

You all file back out, and you hear Penelope ask JJ to stay. You trail behind Derek, who is clearly and understandably distraught. He smacks the whiteboard in the hallway, and you jump. 

You reach for Spencer, but don’t make it to his sleeve before he says, “You need to stay calm.” 

Morgan turns on him, pointing. “Don’t tell me what to be.”

You walk out into the waiting room, needing fresh air. Emily’s there, on the phone with Hotch. She looks at you and swallows. She pulls the receiver away from her mouth. “He wants to talk to you.” 

Nodding, you hold your hand out for the phone. “Hey, Hotch.” 

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” 

“Can you keep an eye on Morgan?” he delivers the question casually, but you can hear the concern, the tension, the insecurity in it. You know he worries he’s overbearing with everyone - but with Morgan it’s amplified into something you don’t quite understand, yet. 

You take a breath. “Yeah. He’s in really bad shape, but he’s in with her now.” 

“Well…I would be too.” There’s a pause, and something unsaid hangs between you. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

+++

A few weeks pass before you find your footing in the new normal. Between Hotch’s separation, Rossi’s arrival, and Penelope’s recovery, there are many adjustments to account for. Penelope, you know, is going to be fine. She is already back to her chipper self, buzzing around only slightly slower than normal. 

The rest? Still weird. Rossi was adjusting to the team little by little, and you find yourself kind of liking him sometimes. 

That change is slower, more deliberate than the last one, which seems to have tumbled out of control all at once. Haley usually shot you a text to check in with you or JJ during cases when she couldn’t get a hold of her husband.

Now, you never hear from her at all. 

Your late nights in the office are quiet for hours at a time. it's a little eerie, if you’re honest. If it wasn’t for Hotch’s calls to see Jack, you wouldn’t be sure she still existed. 

You actually get a bit of a laugh out of him tonight as you all walk out of the bullpen, but it dissolves when you see the man standing before the glass doors, a legal-sized envelope in his hands. 

“Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron takes a deep breath and accepts the envelope, signing his name quickly. 

You hear someone ask what it is, and Aaron looks down at it as he answers. “Haley’s filing for divorce. I’ve been served.” Hotch turns and retreats to his office, closing the door behind him. You all watch as his desk lamp clicked on, and he bows over his desk once more. 

Part of you had known his marriage was really over, but hearing it from his mouth almost knocks the breath out of you. Haley and Aaron had been together almost as long as you’d been alive. 

You startle a little as you realize she sent them here on purpose, instead of the house. While statistically a smart move, it still makes your stomach roll. 

_What would it be like_ , you think, _to have someone know all your weaknesses? To know you well enough to make an elegant, brutal point without lifting a finger?_

The rest of the team still leaves the bullpen somewhat reluctantly. Derek stands beside you as you pack your things. You hesitate for a moment, and say, “Go on ahead without me, I’ll catch up.” 

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We don’t deserve you, kid. You know that?”

You give him half of a smile, and cover his hand with yours, squeezing once before letting go. He leaves you then, his jacket slung over his shoulder. 

You stall at your desk for another few minutes, picking up some files before stepping up the stairs and knocking lightly on the door. 

“Come in.” 

You slip inside, closing the door behind you. “Hotch…”

He shakes his head, exhaling heavily. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” 

“I know,” you say simply, walking toward his desk. “I just - um - can I do my paperwork up here with you, instead of down there in the dark?” 

Aaron huffs a laugh, surprised. “Sure.” He clears a space for you across from him. 

The summons are in front of him, heavily marked-up. You get organized as Hotch continues annotating what you assume is a letter from Haley’s lawyer. His quick, decisive notes remind you he is a prosecutor first, and almost everything else second. 

You dive into your own paperwork, matching Aaron’s swift pace. You aren’t eager to get home yourself, but you knew you had a better chance of getting Aaron home at a decent hour if he saw you leaving, too.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” 

You look up at him, startled. “Do what?”

“Stay. Check on me. You’re supposed to learn from us. I - We - are supposed to be the ones taking care of you, making sure you’re alright.” His pen twirls between his fingers as he speaks - restless.

You look at him. _Really_ look at him. “I don’t do it out of obligation. I do it because I care about this team.” Your eyes fall to the half-finished file in front of you. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I’m alright.”

A small, humorless smile pulls at your lips. “No, you’re not.” Before he can argue, you continue. “And that’s okay. You’re not alone.” Your tone isn’t too heavy, and you let the truth of your words speak for themselves. 

He looks at you for a long time as you start your work again. 

+++

Five nights later, he finally signs the divorce papers. They’d been staring at him in that benign manila envelope the whole time. He had resisted the urge to throw them in a drawer, letting them sit there and smirk at him as he tried to ignore them. 

That night, he leaves his door cracked, inviting any excuse to avoid the unpleasant task of addressing them and putting them in the mailbox. 

You’re down at your desk, goofing around with Morgan. You both want to get ahead on the next week’s consults so you’d have more real time on your short holiday break, but it's safe to say you’re doing very little work. 

“What’s your deal, chocolate thunder? No hot dates on this cold December evening?”

He smiles that gorgeous smile and shakes his head. “You’re not getting anything out of me.” 

You sit back in your chair, your pen still in your hand. “Really, now?”

“Really, really.” 

Laughter echoes around the empty bullpen, and Aaron looks out his open blinds. Derek goes for your file, likely to unfairly critique you until you cried uncle. You fight him off bravely, getting trapped between his massive arms only a few times before throwing him off. 

Aaron pulls a piece of paper from under a file on his desk. It reads, over a list of attributes listed next to a weighted evaluation scale: 

> _NEW AGENT TRAINEE (NAT) PERFORMANCE REVIEW_
> 
> _Evaluate the criteria below as it applies to your unit’s assigned NAT(s)._ _  
> _ _If desired, a direct supervisor may describe conduct and other relevant performance information regarding the NAT(s) assigned to your unit._

He looks out the window again, watching your comfort and ease with Derek that has become the hallmark of your tenure with the BAU. The unit has rapidly become your home. 

Aaron realizes, with a start, that he will miss you if you aren't around. 

Eventually, you just grab your files and run, making laps around the bullpen as he chases you. “Morgan! Stop!”

“Why are you running? I’m trying to help.” 

“Yeah, you help me just as much as gasoline helps a house fire, idiot.” 

Aaron slides the paper back to where it came from and stands up from his desk. He steps up to the window and crosses his arms over his chest, a small smile on his face. It feels good to smile. He hasn’t done it in a while, and the feeling admittedly feels a little foreign. 

Derek stops in his tracks, hands on his hips. “Kid, you’re gonna have to give it to me for review anyways. Hand it over.” 

You hide it behind your back, absolutely delirious with exhaustion and having way too much fun. He launches himself over the desk and you sprint up the stairs and turn toward the conference room, breathless with laughter. 

“Oh, kid, that’s the worst idea you’ve had all day,” Derek crows. 

You run past Hotch’s window, but stop short when Derek switches tactics, going for the corner stairs in front of Gideon’s (former?) office. 

Spinning on your heel, you trot to Aaron’s office door, knock twice and enter without stopping, and close it behind you. You lean on it heavily, still laughing, with your case file pressed to your chest. 

Aaron watches you with a bemused smile. “Having fun?”

“Hey,” you say, pointing at him, “you said I could ask for your help anytime.”

He relents. “That I did.” 

You catch your breath a little and straighten, the image of professionalism. “Help me?” A smile breaks through, too tired to maintain the bit. 

Derek peers through the window and shakes his head, throwing you a rude gesture and returning to his desk. 

Your smile sticks to your face a little longer than is entirely appropriate, but it’s hard to stop grinning when Hotch has that soft kind of joy painted on his face. 

“You’re smiling,” you point out, uselessly. 

He shrugs. “It’s been known to happen.” A finger points to the file in your hands. “That for me?”

“Only if you have time. I don’t want to -“

“It’s no problem.” He steps up to you and gently takes it from your hands. You trail behind him as he crosses back to his desk. 

He sits with you for close to two hours, meticulously picking through your mock consult. It's only a copy of one - Spencer took care of the real case earlier today - but it's always good to get the practice and feedback. 

His criticism is fair and delivered neutrally. You never once feel like a fuckup or a failure, and he’s excellent at articulating exactly how to avoid repeating the same mistake more than once. 

“I should come to you more often. You’re much more thorough than Derek.” You laugh, and the last part of your thought comes at the tail end of a surprise yawn. “Please don’t tell him I said that.”

“Trust me. I won’t.”

You look over, seeing the divorce papers set off to the side. You see his gaze snap from the paper in front of him to your face, and you quickly avert your eyes. 

Hotch heaves a sigh and sits back in his chair. Unprompted, he tells you, “Haley says if I don’t contest the terms she’ll let me see Jack whenever I want.”

You stay quiet. Watching. Waiting. 

“It’s smart, seeing as she’d very likely get full custody if we went to the judge with it. I’m not home enough,” his voice is bitter, resentful, “and I’m hardly a father as it is.”

“Hotch -“. 

He cuts your admonishment short. “She said something to me the other day.” He looks at you and the mask drops off his face. You can see the grief and shame plain as day. It makes your chest hurt. “She said it would work out better this way, seeing as I could be a parent on my own terms, whenever it suited me. Just how I like it.” His eyes flicker to the window, hiding from you. There is quiet for a long moment. You’re both still, the only sounds your breath, the clock, and the ominous whir that seems to permeate every room in that damn building. 

“Sir?”

Nothing. 

“Hotch?”

…

“Aaron.”

He looks at you. The light of his desk lamp shines in his eyes, and you realize he’s more than misty.

“You are a really good husband.” It’s true. Haley’s doing what she needs to do, and he’s giving her all the rein in the world to do so. That is love. That is partnership. Though not ideal by any means and a failure by some, he’s doing the best thing he can with what he has left.

A scoff leaves him. 

“No, I’m serious.” You lean forward, resting your elbows on the desk. “You love her so well. You’re giving her just what she asks for, even when it really hurts. Not fighting her on this is the most loving thing you could ever do.” Your voice gets a little louder and you startle yourself. You sit back, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -“

“It’s alright.” He turns his gaze back out the window, but he looks decidedly less tortured. He repeats himself in a whisper. “It’s alright.”

After a moment of quiet, you stand and push your chair in. “Thank you for helping me with that consult tonight. I really appreciate it.”

His mouth twitches, and you think it could be a smile. “You’re welcome.” He stands, turning his desk lamp off and picking up the papers. “How are you getting home?”

“Oh,” you say with an embarrassed laugh. You follow him out of the office and shut the door behind you. “I’m taking a cab. Emily gave me a ride today and I forgot my car was in the shop until about an hour ago.”

“Can I give you a ride home? I’d feel much more comfortable if I knew you were home safe, and you don’t need to spend that kind of money.” He presses the button for the elevator. 

_Wanna come in?_

_Shut up._

_What? He’s offering a ride home._

_He’s got divorce papers in his hand, stupid!_

_Shit._

Your internal debate doesn’t appear on your face. Or...at least you hope it doesn’t. “Only if it would make you feel better.”

His profile reveals a half-smile, and a rather smug one, at that. “It would.” 

Of course, you don’t end up inviting him in for a drink or a cup of coffee, but he does catch your arm as you left the car. 

“Yeah?” Your brows pull, concerned. 

“Your care for us does not go unnoticed, and it is appreciated.” 

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “Thank you, sir.” 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and drop you off at your car. Is eight o’clock okay?” His tone leaves no room for discussion, and your throat gets even tighter. 

You’re pleased when your voice doesn’t break. “That would be great.” 

“Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Hotch. Drive safe.” 

+++

Of all the mornings, it had to be this one. 

Aaron is out for the morning, taking a half-day for a “series of incredibly tedious, unfortunately mandatory, meetings.” Before he comes back, you make sure there is enough fresh coffee, and you’d coveted one of the remaining banana nut muffins you shared with the team that morning, placing it on your desk.

Banana muffins solve a great number of ills, incredibly tedious and mandatory meetings included. 

Everyone’s in the bullpen, save for your absent fearless leader and Rossi, who was holed up in his office.

It's very possible that this is your last day with the BAU. With the imminent graduation from basic training at the academy, you will receive your new unit assignment by the end of the day. There are over fifty field offices to choose from, a seemingly infinite number of units in each. The odds of staying with the BAU are slim to none. 

Thus, your desk has been prepared for packing. You lined your drawers with boxes so they are easy to pull, and everything that isn’t of immediate use is already home, shoved under your bed until you have the guts to acknowledge your disappointment. 

You try to soak it in as much as you can without looking too mournful or pathetic. Even then, you’re really going to miss this team, and it shows. 

You’re sitting on Emily’s desk as she worked on a consult, looking as attentive as you can. She’s the best about letting you look over her shoulder, and she often narrates her profile-builds so you can see how she approaches them compared to Derek, Hotch, etc.

“You look jumpy, over there, kid.” Derek’s observation comes with a mouthful of banana muffin. “What’s goin’ on with you?” 

“Nothing,” you assure him. “I’m fine.” 

Spencer chimes in. “Academy grads get their assignments today.” 

“Oh, there’s no way Hotch is going to let you have an assignment somewhere else.” Emily waves the thought away with her hand. “You know too much.”

“Who’s getting an assignment somewhere else?” JJ approaches behind Derek, looking rather concerned. 

You start to explain more thoroughly. “I get my unit assignment by the end of the day -” 

Spencer interrupts you, again. “ - I think it’s here.”

You look, and Hotch walks through the door with an envelope in his hand. it's addressed to you. Though you squint at him, his face gives nothing away. 

With hands that only shake a little, you take the envelope from him and set it on your desk, resolving to deal with its contents when you are alone. 

“Open it!” Emily cries. “Let’s see!” 

You huff. “I’d rather not subject you to bad news this early in the afternoon.” 

JJ rolls her eyes. “You can’t be certain it’s bad news.” 

“It has to be at least fifty-fifty. Spencer,” you turn to boy genius. “Help me out here.” 

“Actually, based on your improvement and adherence to high-performance criterion, the good news is nearly 40 _more_ likely than the bad news. The variable here isn’t your performance, but the distribution of the new agents.” 

Even though he disagrees with your assessment, it makes you feel better. You pick up the envelope, and look at Hotch. 

“Go ahead.” 

You slip your finger under the flap and tear neatly along the seam. The letter inside is addressed to you, with your NAT number, permanent address, and other relevant identifying information. 

Scanning the page, you throw a hand over your mouth, reaching the line you’re looking for.

> _UNIT ASSIGNMENT: Behavioral Analysis Unit A_ _  
> _ _UNIT LOCATION: FBI Field Office, Quantico, Virginia_ _  
> _ _UNIT CHIEF: Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner_

> _Report for duty in Room 613 promptly at 10am Eastern Standard Time._

The assistant director’s signature blurs, and you realize you are crying a little. You hadn’t yet said a word, and everyone (except Hotch, of course) fears the worst. 

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” JJ rushes over and wraps an arm around your shoulders, reading. “Wait.” She reaches the same lines you did, and lets out a loud, relieved laugh. “You get to stay?”

You come out of your shock and look up at Hotch, who pulls your brand-new Special Agent badge, identification, and credentials out of his pocket. You reach out for them, hesitating. He places your badge and credentials into your palm with purpose, and very carefully pins your ID tag to the hem of your blazer. 

“Congratulations, Agent.” 


End file.
